#i mean they are mentioned

[mejkosmos]

whichever madman pointed out that the new rift on bill's body in the theraprism is meant to parallel ford's cracked glasses after he emerges out of the portal,,,, MY SOUL IS YOURS TO TAKE ANYDAY MY GOSH

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bonus !!

ford about bill:

bill about ford:

[clownboybebop]

if you’re ever in the position to choose between giving up and accepting defeat, and actually trying to fight the ancient unkillable god that is about to peel apart reality like a string cheese, remember this: scientifically speaking, you might as well give it a shot!

1.there were trees at the beginning of the world! there were trees so long ago that they predate bacteria that causes wood to decay. when a tree fell, it would lie there in stasis and there wasn’t any way of breaking down wood xylem on a molecular level in that way.

2. it seems obvious to say, but wood eating bacteria are literally incapable of comprehending what they’re breaking down. It’s just not information conciously available to a microorganism. they don’t know what they’re deconstructing, where it came from, bacteria have no way to even fathom the existence of a tree as a concept.

3. Regardless of the facts above, the world we live in today is a world where wood inevitably decomposes

it is worth fighting the unkillable god no matter how pointless it seems. it is worth taking the risk even though youre trying to accomplish something impossible. the reality in which you live was also once reality in which trees didn’t rot. You live in a reality that allows for existence before the possibility of destruction. you live in a reality where uncomprehending microbes break down matter that is so far beyond the scope of their comprehension that it feels comical to specify something so obvious. you live in a reality that occasionally allows unshakeable physical truths to be altered with no warning.

It is worth fighting the unkillable god because trees are so old they predate the source of their destruction, and it still did not spare them. It is worth fighting the unkillable god because bacteria rots unthinkingly, because there is room in our cosmos for destruction without comprehension on the part of the destroyer. It is worth fighting the unkillable god because now and then reality retracts the promise of immortality without fanfare, and when that happens there is no mercy for the ancient. the unmaking is not softer for the desecrators ignorance. for all things, existence is endless until the exact point where it ends.

so you might as well try to kill the unkillable god. it doesn’t seem likely, but at the beginning of the world, trees didn’t rot. so you never know! you never know

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

elita pep talk

[officialspec]

can i say something. for years i thought the joke of the song short skirt/long jacket by cake was that he wanted a woman who was hung like a horse. like i thought when he says jacket it was a last-second fakeout because he very obviously meant to say cock. and the rest of the things in the song were just her personality and interests. which were secondary to her awesome penis

[chloesimaginationthings]

Can’t spell “Five nights at Freddy’s” without GAY

(Based off @/flashcs5 post)

[callisteios]

Hi, feel free to take my new uquiz to discover what kind of vampire you are!

[churomo]

casual tim sketchbook doodles!!

[pollsnatural]

To get $100, you must spend two hours discussing Supernatural with another person (spin the wheel).

[ciderjacks]

dad issues

+

(I think they were all fundamentally affected by what they saw and just collectively decided not to share the upsetting details)

[gojosbf]

"Give me back my boyfriend"

"I don't know what you're talking about"

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy one year anniversary to In Stars and Time!

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[morganbritton132]

Continuing a bit from this

Because that was a fluke, right?

Steve Harrington sat at their lunch table, asked a bunch of questions, and took notes as some sort of prank, right? It’s never going to happen again. Right?

But he’s there again today (“Fucking hell”) sitting at their table, waving them over when he spots them like, “I was thinking about that depression filter you told me about. Makes no sense.”

“It’s, uh…” Jeff tries, accepting Steve’s offered applesauce. “It’s a perception filter.”

“Ohhh, that makes more sense.”

Steve opens his notebook, marks something out, and writes over it. He looks up like, “About this guy Griffon.”

And that’s how it goes. Steve asks questions. They provide answers. They realize that Steve must have some hearing loss in his left ear and adjust to that. Steve cracks a joke they don’t understand and adjusts to them, and it’s…fun.

Gareth accidentally elbows Steve in the ribs and Steve winces hard because his ribs are still fucked up from the fight. They all think this is over now and things will go back to normal but Steve…apologizes?? For being weird??? To weirdos?

“Oh, god,” Jeff says after lunch, watching Steve and Grant walk off in the same direction. “We have to keep him.”

Gareth sighs, “Eddie is going to hate this.”

[claraoswalds]

The Giggle // The Devil's Chord

+bonus

[chloesimaginationthings]

I can’t wait to see mangle in the FNAF 2 movie,,

[kaitcake1289]

Who are you, Louis?